As I lay beside him, a wave of warmth slowly washed over me.
Whenever I'm with him, it feels like the world narrows down to just us. The stars above, the sea behind us—everything else fades into the background.
"Chaky… are you ever afraid of the future?" I asked quietly, my eyes still fixed on the sky.
He turned his head toward me.
"Of a future with you?" he said softly. "Never."
His fingers moved through my hair, slow and soothing. The touch alone was enough to calm every hidden fear I didn't even know I was carrying.
"Because I know we'll be happy," he continued, his voice steady, certain.
There was no hesitation in him. No doubt.
And with that one sentence, I realized I didn't need to be afraid of tomorrow. I didn't need to worry about what the future might bring.
Because whatever it was—
I would face it with him.
"Let's head back slowly," Chak murmured.
Before I could respond, he lifted me effortlessly into his arms. I laughed softly, wrapping my arms around his neck as he carried me toward the cabin like I weighed nothing at all.
He opened the door and stepped inside, the soft light illuminating the space. The scent of wood and sea lingered faintly in the air.
He gently placed me down on one of the armchairs.
Then he walked to the wardrobe, opened it, and pulled out two dark red t-shirts and a pair of black shorts for each of us.
He glanced at me before placing the clothes carefully on the small table.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The air felt different now—quieter, heavier, but not tense. Just intimate.
I slowly stood up.
Instead of reaching for the clothes, I walked toward him.
Step by step.
He didn't move.
When I stopped in front of him, I could see the faint question in his eyes.
"Chaky…" I whispered.
My fingers reached for the first button of his shirt.
I began to unfasten it slowly, one by one. Not rushed. Not teasing.
Just… close.
His gaze never left mine.
My hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from the intensity of being so near to him. The fabric parted under my fingers, revealing warm skin beneath.
I rested my palm lightly against his chest.
His heartbeat was steady.
Strong.
Real.
"I'm not afraid either," I said quietly.
Because in that moment, standing inches away from him, touching him, feeling his breath against my skin—
I knew.
The future didn't scare me.
As long as it led back to him.
One by one, I finished unbuttoning his shirt.
The last button slipped free, and the fabric opened completely beneath my hands.
For a moment, I just looked at him.
Then slowly, almost reverently, I let my fingers trail over his chest. Over the firm lines of his muscles, down the warmth of his skin. Not hurried. Not greedy.
Just exploring.
His breath deepened slightly, but he didn't stop me.
My fingertip followed the outline of his shoulder, then moved across his chest, tracing every defined curve like I was memorizing him.
"You work too hard," I murmured softly.
A faint smirk touched his lips. "Is that a complaint?"
Instead of answering, I stepped around him.
Standing behind him now, I gently slid his shirt off his shoulders just enough for it to fall lower down his arms.
And there it was.
The eagle.
His tattoo stretched proudly across his back, powerful and detailed—wings spread wide as if ready to take flight.
The first time I had seen it, everything had changed.
I lifted my hand and slowly traced the outline of one wing with my fingertip. Down the curve. Across the feathers. Over the strength carved into ink and skin.
His shoulders tensed slightly beneath my touch.
I leaned closer.
My lips brushed softly against the tattoo.
Then again.
And again—slow, deliberate kisses following the lines of the eagle as if I were honoring it.
"I like your muscles," I whispered against his skin.
My fingers slid over his waist lightly.
"But this eagle…" I pressed one last gentle kiss between the wings. "…I like it even more."
He was quiet now.
"Because of it," I continued softly, my cheek resting briefly against his back, "everything started."
The arguments. The tension. The glances that lasted too long.
Us.
His hand reached back, finding mine and pulling it around his waist.
"And I'd choose it again," he said quietly. "Every time."
I wrapped my arms around him from behind, holding him close.
Not because I needed to.
But because I wanted to.
Because this—his warmth, his strength, his heartbeat under my palms—
was where my story began.
And where I wanted it to continue.
Chak didn't answer with words.
Instead, he turned around slowly, his hand coming up to cup my face.
For a heartbeat, he just looked at me.
Then he kissed me.
Not rushed. Not wild.
Deep.
His lips moved against mine with quiet certainty, like he wasn't claiming me—but choosing me. Over and over again.
My hands slid up his chest instinctively, fingers curling lightly into the fabric that still hung loosely from his arms.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, and before I could catch my breath, his hands moved to the hem of my shirt.
Slowly.
He lifted it.
His fingers brushed my skin as he pulled the fabric up and over my head, letting it fall somewhere behind us.
His gaze softened.
He leaned down, placing warm kisses along my shoulder… my collarbone… across my chest. Not hurried—just attentive, like he was memorizing every inch of me the way I had just memorized him.
I shivered under his touch.
"Chak…" I breathed.
He smiled faintly against my skin.
"My beautiful artist," he murmured softly.
The nickname hit deeper than the kisses.
Because he knew what that meant to me.
Because he saw me.
Not just my body.
Me.
He pressed one last lingering kiss just below my collarbone before gently resting his forehead against mine.
"You should go shower," he said quietly.
There was warmth in his tone, not distance.
He reached for the clothes he had taken out earlier, handing me one of the dark red shirts, the black shorts, and a soft towel.
"I'll be in the cabin," he added.
Then he leaned forward and kissed my forehead—slow, protective, tender.
The kind of kiss that felt like a promise.
I held the clothes to my chest for a moment, watching him.
And I realized something.
No matter how intense the moments between us became…
what made my heart feel safest—
was the way he always grounded them with care.
After I showered and slipped into his clothes, I took a slow breath before stepping out.
The dark red shirt was slightly oversized on me, the fabric soft and warm against my skin. It still carried his scent — something subtle and grounding. It made me feel… claimed, but in the safest way.
I walked toward the cabin.
Through the soft light spilling from inside, I saw him.
Chak was standing at the helm, one hand resting confidently on the wheel, his posture relaxed but steady. The sea outside was dark and endless, reflecting the faint shimmer of distant stars.
For a moment, I just stood there and watched him.
The way his shoulders moved with each quiet breath.
The way the low light traced the outline of his jaw.
The calm focus in his eyes.
He looked like he belonged there.
Strong. Certain. In control.
I stepped closer, my bare feet silent against the floor.
Without saying a word, I leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against the eagle tattoo on his back.
His body reacted instantly — a subtle inhale, barely audible.
"Why do you look so charming, my boyfriend?" I murmured softly.
I rested my cheek against his shoulder, my arms sliding around his waist from behind.
He let out a quiet chuckle.
"Charming?" he repeated.
"Yes," I said, tightening my hold slightly. "It should be illegal."
He turned his head just enough to look at me from the corner of his eye.
"You're wearing my clothes," he pointed out calmly. "That makes you the charming one."
I smiled against his skin.
"I don't think so."
He shifted slightly, one hand leaving the wheel just long enough to cover mine where it rested on his stomach.
"You look good in red," he said again, softer this time.
I lifted my head and placed another slow kiss against the eagle — right between the wings.
"You know," I whispered, "when you're standing like this… you look like someone I could follow anywhere."
He was quiet for a moment.
The boat moved gently beneath us, the sound of the water steady and rhythmic.
Then he spoke, his voice low.
"You don't have to follow me."
He turned in my arms now, fully facing me, his hands sliding to my waist.
"We walk forward together."
His thumb brushed lightly over my cheek.
"And if I ever look charming," he added, leaning his forehead against mine, "it's because you're looking at me like that."
I felt my heart stumble slightly.
"Like what?" I asked.
"Like I'm your whole world."
I swallowed softly.
"You are," I answered without hesitation.
The honesty hung between us — raw and unguarded.
He leaned down and kissed me slowly. Not demanding. Not urgent.
Just deep enough to make everything else disappear.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against mine again.
"Stay with me," he murmured.
"I'm not going anywhere," I replied.
Outside, the sea stretched endlessly into the night.
Inside the cabin, wrapped in his arms, I felt like I had already found my horizon.
The harbor lights slowly began to appear in the distance, small golden reflections trembling on the surface of the water.
"We're back," Chak murmured quietly.
I hadn't even realized how much time had passed.
The boat slowed, the gentle hum of the engine fading as he guided us smoothly into the dock. His movements were confident, practiced — like he had done this a thousand times before.
But tonight felt different.
When everything was secured, he reached for my hand.
"Come," he said softly. We moved to the loungers at the back of the yacht, and Chak lay on the lounge and I lay on his bare chest.
I was still lying on Chak's chest when we heard it.
Voices.
Not distant.
Not faint.
Very familiar.
At first, I thought I imagined it — the harbor sometimes carried echoes in strange ways. But then I heard a laugh I would recognize anywhere.
Amara.
I lifted my head slightly, listening more carefully.
"…so tell us already!" Pim's voice rang out playfully.
Chak's arm tightened around me instinctively. "Do you hear that too?" he murmured.
Before I could answer, Non's voice followed, dramatic as ever. "Anamarija, stop gatekeeping. How does Chak's yacht look from the inside?"
I froze.
Chak raised an eyebrow slowly.
We were still on the yacht.
Still docked.
And they were very close.
I carefully shifted so I could peek over the side railing without being too obvious.
Under the soft harbor lights, I saw them — Amara, Pim, Non, and Anamarija standing just a short distance away, clearly in the middle of an intense discussion.
Anamarija crossed her arms, trying to look casual. "It's modern," she said confidently. "Very modern. Clean lines. Dark wood. Soft lighting. It feels expensive."
"Of course it feels expensive," Non scoffed. "It is expensive."
Pim leaned forward dramatically. "But is it romantic?"
Amara gasped. "Yes, that's the real question!"
I quickly buried my face back into Chak's chest to hide my smile.
Romantic?
If only they knew.
Anamarija shrugged. "It's… tasteful. Minimalist. Definitely private."
"Private?" Non repeated suspiciously.
Chak looked down at me, his lips twitching.
"This is getting dangerous," he whispered.
Before I could respond, Pim suddenly pointed toward the yacht.
"We should go see it!"
My heart stopped for half a second.
"Yes!" Amara agreed instantly. "Field trip!"
Non clapped his hands. "I support this decision."
Anamarija hesitated. "No. Chak definitely won't let you in. And he's absolutely not here.
Let's just go back."